


Outlaws on the Outside

by gegg



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm very excited to continue writing this, Romance, it basically spans across the entire game with some flashbacks of course, okay listen i'm giving arthur the romance he deserves, slowish burn, tilly too for that matter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gegg/pseuds/gegg
Summary: Arthur Morgan is sweet on Tilly Jackson, and Tilly Jackson is sweet on Arthur Morgan. It's been that way for awhile now, even if, for the most part, it's an unspoken secret between them. As civilization and the law begins to catch up to the Van der Linde gang's misdeeds, and the way of life both Arthur and Tilly have known since their broken youth begins to crumble, that same unspoken secret begins to flourish. The comfort they can't find in the future, they find in each other.





	1. Half-Empty Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll! I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Ever since finishing the game, which was beautiful in every way, I wanted to make some sort of contribution to fandom and the need for a better story-based romance than Mary Linton (she'll still be in it tho lol). And, I'm not just trying to throw any two characters together, I truly believe there is some sort of chemistry between Arthur and Tilly in game, even with what little interaction there was. This just an AU of sorts :)
> 
> That being said, leave any feedback or questions in the comments! Let me know what you think!

The sound of wind almost seemed to grow louder and more intense as they fought against the storm of pushed forward. At least to Tilly it did.

 

She sat rigid in the howling wagon, Jack sitting close to her, even more so. He stayed silent, but she could only imagine the number of things swirling around in his young head. The questions he would always have, but would never get honest answers of. Like why they were once again on the move. On the run, more like it. Her well placed frown only deepening at the thought, she wrapped an arm around the young boy, and hugged him closer.

 

His mother was in the wagon ahead of them, tending to Davey. She had asked Tilly to watch Jack while she would uselessly watch over the dying man. It was nothing Jack hadn’t seen before, but she understood where Abigail was coming from. Just because he hadn’t not seen it, didn’t mean he understood it.

 

His innocence needed to be kept as long as it could be in this life.

 

And, his father… well, he had been sent to scout ahead. Look for shelter. Or, _any_ shred of hope in this wretched situation, at least. Arthur and Micah had been sent too, all separately. Micah, well… let’s just say she didn’t care for his safety in the storm, as awful as that thought was. Not as much as she did for John and Arthur. John had his family to get back too, as a husband and a father, and Arthur… Arthur just needed to get back to _all of them_. He was a symbol of strength and encouragement if anything. Protection too. Tilly was barely coping as it was, but even she felt like the shred of hope existed with certain people.

 

“Aunt Tilly?” A meek voice, Jack, spoke up beside her, effectively snapping her out of whatever troubling thought she was stuck on. She looked down at Jack, whose eyes were wide and confused, yet tired and drooping, swallowing the doubt that filled her.

 

“Yes, Jack?” She responded, noticing others in the same wagon, Reverend Swanson, Karen, Molly, and Uncle perk up themselves at the broken, somewhat sad silence between them all.

 

“Are we going to be okay?”

 

Tilly didn’t know why exactly, but it wasn’t what she was expecting from the little boy. She was waiting for a ‘where are we going?’ or ‘why did we leave?’ sort of question, maybe, but not that one. And, it terrified her slightly, both because she couldn’t at first think of a good answer, and that it gave the implication that Jack himself was aware of the direness.

 

So, much for innocence.

 

Still, with a few seconds of radio-silence on her part, she quickly put on a mask of a warm smile, and hugged him closer. “Of course we are, Jack, soon enough we’ll be out of this cold and somewhere warmer.” And, safer. Maybe. She really didn’t know if any of that would end up being true. Or if it would end up being a lie.

 

Thankfully, Uncle decided to pipe up as well, with a much more believably worry-free tone, “Yeah, don’t worry, boy. Before ya know it, Pearson will be cooking up one of his half-decent stews for us, and we’ll be eatin’ by a fire someplace while Dutch comes up with one of his infamous plans. Yep, we’ll be just fine. ”

 

It was almost oddly specific, but Tilly assumed it to be Uncle’s own idea of comfort. Regardless, she could feel Jack relax more beside her, leaning more into her warmth. What little there was of it. She sent a small, ‘thank you’ of a smile in the old man’s direction.

 

“Oh, you mean the _plan_ that landed us in this mess?” Karen, sitting right beside Tilly, spoke up in a mutter herself, even if the tone was hushed a little. As if she was afraid of Dutch hearing it from two wagons up.

Tilly initially didn’t even have a reaction to the sarcastic murmur, but as soon as she processed the comment, she was quick to give a hard nudge to the girl, giving her a look meant to remind the woman of their youngest passenger. Karen acknowledged it with closing her mouth and looking down. Her way of an apology, maybe.

 

Jack, or anyone for that matter, didn’t have much to add or question on that, so the wind filled silence returned. It was something familiar at this point, but still far from comforting. Tilly couldn’t even remember how long they had been rocking along in the cold, terrible storm. She returned to her previous thought process, mulling over their options and the future. The fate of Davey. And, of course, _that_ reminded her of poor, poor Jenny. Mac. Sean. John. _Arthur._ They all needed to stay strong… together. That’s the only way they would get through this.

 

Tilly didn’t know how many more minutes passed before faint but strong voice cut through the howling of the wind. This time she perked up more, especially at the one word she was able to confidently make out from the drained out voice. _Shelter._ He had found shelter. A breath she didn’t know she had been holding in left her in some relief, as she shook Jack ever so slightly with a silent, but reassuring smile.

 

One she felt was telling truth rather than the alternative. Even if there was still a heap of doubt built behind it.

 

* * *

 

It was an abandoned mining town, or something of the sort. Tilly thought for sure God, or the devil, considering who they were, must have been watching over them for them to find shelter in a whole town rather than a single, most likely broken down cabin. That’s what she was expecting anyway, but as usual, Arthur went above and beyond. Now they had space. Options. It was enough to take her mind off of the whirlwind of snow that had been encasing them for hours, and focus on a better moment in the future.

 

From the moment the rocking and whirling of the wagon finally came to a halt, the next few minutes of being ushered into one of the buildings was a blur. She held onto Jack’s shoulders through it all, only waiting until they in the dark shelter to feel confident he wouldn’t become lost in the storm. Although Abigail was still focused on Davey, who was rushed in and hastily placed on a table, Jack didn’t hesitate to join her side. Tilly hung back slightly at first, only peeking over Abigail’s shoulder, not sure if she could handle seeing Davey like that. She never really saw Jenny, Mac, or Sean’s fate, and she didn’t care to see Davey’s. But, she didn’t have a lot of choice this time, as growing concern and maybe a little bit of hope for the man kept her going.

 

That would be taken away in a matter of moments.

 

As Jack drifted back to her arms, and Mrs. Grimshaw finished barking unsure orders, Abigail spoke out, a grim, unsurprised expression on her face. “Davey’s dead.” It was loud enough to stop the shuffle of feet momentarily.

 

Tilly just looked down, tuning out the noise to follow. The assurance’s from the Reverend, Dutch reciting some kind of plan to Hosea and Arthur, something about them riding off to find Micah or John. Hopefully they would find the latter first, but with how their bittersweet luck was going, Tilly doubted anything else as fortunate as this town would fall into their laps.  She lifted her head once more when Dutch’s voice rose to address the entire again, and give some sort of speech to lift everyone’s spirits. Make them feel safe and secure.

 

But, her eyes weren’t on Dutch as he spoke, they were on the man right beside him. Arthur’s own icy blue eyes seemed to lock with her softer brown ones as she tuned out the end of Dutch’s monologue. There was something to be said with the look they both gave each other, but she couldn’t even quite place it. She wanted to know what he was thinking. What he believed was going to happen after this. Maybe he had the answer to Jack’s question. Were they going to be okay? Maybe, as tough a man as he was, he was thinking the same of her. Whatever was unspoken, Tilly felt more comforted regardless. Even if his eyes held no answers, they did offer reassurance of some sort. Right _now_ they were okay. And, that was all she could ask for and more. She nodded ever so slightly, as if to say she understood whatever he was trying the say from the distance between him. Without a nod back, Arthur finally broke the silent communication between them as Dutch finished his speech and steered him out back into the raging storm. There was something about watching him leave that left Tilly feeling emptier than before, save for the reassurance silently sent her way. She seemed to remember how cold it was too, a shiver getting the best of her and forcing her to wrap her arms around herself.

 

“Tilly, get over here and help out!” Mrs. Grimshaw’s rigid voice cut through the low chatter in the dark space and grabbed at her attention, whisking her away to help unload what they could from the wagons.

 

While her hands went to work, her mind continued to drift off  into more troubling thoughts.

 

It wasn’t too much longer before there was nothing else to make out of the dingy set of cabins. The men were set up in one, while Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur were set in another, and the women and Jack were set up in another. Tilly had been with Mrs. Grimshaw in one of the more worn down cabins. Whoever had once stayed there must have left in a hurry, judging by the shambles of broken glass and scattered objects. There was an abandoned picture with a cracked frame on the table she noticed as she tidied what Mrs. Grimshaw told her to tidy. Taking the opportunity when the high-strung woman left the room, Tilly picked it up and scanned it over. It was a little girl, straight faced and posed. So a family lived here… or a father who worked in the mines and had a little girl to get back home to. Either way, it made Tilly feel sad. Hopefully the little girl still had a daddy, or someone of the sort. A home, at least. Once Mrs. Grimshaw’s familiar footsteps began approaching the room, Tilly put the picture back down and got back to work.

 

It was another hour before Lenny announced Dutch’s return. The whinnying and clatter of exhausted horses broke through the whistling wind, fully signaling the return of Arthur, a new face, and, almost unfortunately, Micah as well. Tilly was quick to exit the now slightly warm cabin where headquarters were set up, where Davey died, and greet the trio. Not seeing John with them was once thing, but discovering the the fourth person was very much not John Marston was more surprising. She looked to be a woman, clinging with white knuckles to Dutch’s torso as the horses skidded to a stop in the snow.

 

Dutch explained they had raided a homestead taken over by the O’Driscolls, a name Tilly never liked to hear, and found food, blankets, and the poor soul who was formerly _Mrs._ Adler.

 

“Ms. Karen, Ms. Tilly, please warm Ms. Adler up. Giver her a drink of somethin’.” Dutch ordered, though the soft and tired tone came off more as question than Tilly was used too. She didn’t hesitate, however, soon making her way to the broken woman’s side and directing her, with Karen, back to the warming fire.

 

Ms. Adler shook with the cold and fierce emotion, voice cracking as she tried to stammer out something amongst whimpers and soft sobs. “ _H-he was my husband. He was my husband._ ”

 

Tilly didn’t know what to say, other than offer the same broken reassurances she had used on Jack earlier. Nothing she could say would make her feel better, but it made Tilly herself feel better to just say something. Anything.

 

One thing she knew for sure, is that if the O’Driscoll’s were now mixed up in their problems, close behind the storm and the unaccounted law, things were more serious than she initially thought.

 

Damn them all.

 

* * *

 

It was in the dead of night, when Ms. Adler finally drifted into an uneasy, sniffly sleep. Karen soon followed, which left all but Tilly in their own uneasy dreams. And, maybe even nightmares given the Hell everyone had been through over the past few days. Tilly felt she needed to follow suit and let the crackling of the fire lull her to a dreamscape, but she couldn’t. She stayed seated, eyes scanning from the cold, snoozing faces on the floor to the contrasting red fire.

 

When she had enough of the sad surrounding her, she got up and headed for the door, wind still shrieking with cold. Wrapping her headscarf more tightly around her head, she quietly opened the door and slipped out into the storm, aiming for the other creaking cabin, just across the way. Strangely, she did not feel the need to fight against the flurry of snow, easily crossing as if it had cleared for just a moment, just for her, before reaching and gliding inside the other door. Granted, the action was sure to create a bit of noise, but she was willing to bet Dutch and Hosea being the older men of the gang, were in a deep sleep. Molly was… another factor, but Tilly didn’t care to find out if the other young woman was awake, heading straight for the room that held her objective in mind.

 

Yet, as she reached for the wooden latch of the door, she hesitated. At first she didn’t know why she did, furrowing her brows as she searched for answers, but the answer was clear. _What_ was she doing? Even if there was a faint mirage of a glow underneath the door, who was she to barge in and demand answers? Or… _anything_?

 

She had half a mind to turn on her heel and head straight back to her rightful place, amongst the other poor women, worrying about poor John, watching over poor Ms. Adler, and feeling sorry for her poor self. Worrying about her poor concerns. But, she didn’t. Instead, she drew her hand back from the latch and balled it into a dainty, white-knuckled fist. Closing her eyes, she raised it and rapped ever so slightly on the frigid wood.

 

First came no response, except maybe a startled rustle of not expecting such a noise at this time of night, so she persisted. Another knock, just two. “... Arthur?” Her voice was quiet, but audible.

 

There still wasn’t a response. Not at first.

 

Only more silence, and then: “Come in.” The voice was the ever-so-familiar low murmur she was expecting, as she let out a breath and finally opened the door.

 

The soft glow of a lantern expanded throughout the room, illuminating the man in question. Arthur Morgan. He was sitting straight up on the bed, clearly not thinking about sleep anytime soon. Out of the corner of her eye, Tilly recognized the leather cover of his journal, something he had only just started tucking out of sight. The orange tint of lightning almost brought a sense of comfort in the room, helping her feel calmer, clearer. She could breathe easier than she had been able to all night long. She pulled herself in and softly shut the door behind her, focusing on the blue eyes that focused on her.

 

Arthur’s own shoulders seemed to drop in relief, as if to say, ‘Oh, it’s only you.’ “Tilly.” He greeted. No, ‘What are you doing here?’ No surprise. He must have been half expecting her, or something of the sort. Maybe was even a little happy to see her as she was him.

 

“Arthur.” She nodded back, no smile on her lips as she spoke. Not as there usually would be. These circumstances felt different. It was no such joyous occasion, but it held the same tone as all of their past meetings.

 

There was a small, out of place silence that filled the room. Even the swirling wind fell on deaf ears. At a closer distance than before, Tilly still could not read him. She usually could. Very easily. But whatever was on his mind was nothing she had known before. Maybe it was confliction. Maybe he himself had no idea what _to_ think.

 

When the silence lingered longer than it should’ve, Tilly spoke once more. “I.. I just wanted to talk.”

 

Arthur nodded after a moment, and before Tilly could even take another deep breath, he responded, “Everything’s going to be okay.” It caught her off guard, for sure, and she realized what prompted him to say such a thing. The very thing she wanted to hear from him. Just because she couldn’t read him, didn’t he couldn’t read her. Hell, she was willing to bet that he could tell what was on her mind from the meek knocks on his door. Tilly opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly shut it. Instead, she found herself sitting next to him on the bed, twisting her body to face him even just a little bit. He only turned his head ever so slightly to acknowledge her gesture.

 

Now inches away from him, she still couldn’t read him.

 

Regardless, she finally asked her second question, only out loud this time. “How do you know?” A million things to add on to that broad speculation popped up in her head. What about the law? The Pinkertons? What about the O’Driscolls? What about their freedom? What about Jack and Abigail? _John?_ What if someone else _died_?

 

Arthur’s eyes drifted to the ground for second, before returning to hers, “Because… I just know we will. We always have been. Me… Dutch, Hosea we’ve been through worse.” There was a small pause, “We survived before, we can survive this.” He seemed so sure of it, but Tilly wasn’t exactly convinced.

 

She faced forward again, away from Arthur’s gaze, and stared at the frost covered window. “I just… I don’t know, Arthur, I’m _worried_ . I have somethin’ of a bad feeling about all of this since, well, since we lost all those folks. I mean _Davey_ . Jenny… They _died._ ” She refrained from saying Arthur’s name again to try and get her point across.

A hand fell upon her shoulder. It wasn’t rough like anyone would expect just from the looks of Arthur, but it was the exact opposite. It was soft, caring, _reassuring._ Only, this form of reassurance was much more personal. Better than a simple stare. She turned her head to look at him once more.

 

“ _Tilly_ , you gotta stop thinking about it. Believe me, I’ve done enough thinking. _Hell_ , I’ve been thinkin’ about it all night, I can’t…” He gestured loosely to his bed, “I can’t _sleep_ ‘cause of it.” Tilly softened, placing her own hand on his, to which he sighed heavily, “But… but Dutch told me himself they’re the _last_ ones. I’ve seen ‘im make promises like that before, and from what I’ve seen, he’s Hellbent on keeping it. _I_ can promise you that, Tilly. No one else is _dyin’_ on his or my watch.”

 

Tilly locked eyes with him again, running her thumb over his hand. There was another bout of silence between them, but this one was more comfortable. She broke it once more, “Okay.” Her voice was softer. More even. “If you say so, Mr. Morgan. I believe you.”

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, to which she let herself grin with a knowing glint, “ _Mr. Morgan_ ?” His own smirk tugged at his lips, with a low chuckle. “I thought we got past that a long time ago, _Ms. Tilly._ ” He played along, and Tilly let out a hushed, short laugh of her own. It was the first time she’d laughed in the past couple of days, and she had to admit, it made her feel better in it’s own way.

 

She let go of his hand and lightly smacked his shoulder in a scolding manner, “Oh, _hush_.” A few more moments of quiet laughter from both of them filled the small, cold space of the room. It was more warming than any fire had been thus far, and Tilly was just fine with that. Soon the laughter died down, and the most comfortable silence there had been so far rested easily. This time, there was a smile eased upon her lips as brighter eyes between the both of them concentrated on each other. If Arthur Morgan made a promise… she would trust it. Always.

 

A particular strong gust of wind pulled both of them back to reality, and she looked towards and out the same frosted window that reminded her of her left behind responsibilities. “Well, I really must return to Ms. Adler. Check up on her, make sure she’s warm.” Tilly stood up from the bed, almost scolding herself for the action. More than anything right now, she wanted to keep Arthur’s company. To keep talking, jesting, or anything of the sort. It really was a sense of security for her, most of all on nights like these. But, nights like these just wasn’t a time for that. Not with so much at stake.

 

Arthur nodded, shuffling slightly in his seat, “‘Course… how is she?” He asked as Tilly began heading back to the door where she had once entered so… unsure, and scared. She felt like she was in a better place, but thinking about that poor, unfortunate widow was a call back to reality if anything was.

 

Tilly, gripping the door handle, looked back at the concerned man, “She’s… She’ll be okay.” Maybe. If Tilly was in that situation herself, she’d surely perish in one way or another… but she’d do what she could to keep that from happening to Ms. Adler. She finally opened the door, now anxious to get back to the others. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t want someone to wake up and wonder where she was. But, she looked back one more time. “Goodnight, Arthur… and, thank you.” She smiled once more at him.

 

Arthur tipped his head, as if to say, ‘You’re welcome. Anytime.’, but replaced with, “You get some rest now, Ms. Tilly.”

 

Tilly refrained from rolling her eyes, finding the comment sweet regardless of the teasing tone behind her name.

 

“You too, Mr. Morgan.”

 


	2. Remembering Boadicea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Thank you SO much for all the feedback on this, it really made me want to continue writing this fic more than I already did. Now this chapter is a little slow, but it's necessary for the transition into Horseshoe Overlook where things can realllly get rolling between Arthur and Tilly! I guess this story will also be more focused on Tilly for the most part, hence why I'm writing from her perspective, but I do plan to include Arthur's perspective too! Enjoy, and leave anymore thoughts you have! I love reading them!

_ “What’s her name?” _

  


_ Tilly placed a hand on the soft muzzle of the horse, rubbing ever so slightly as she marveled at the beauty of the beast. She was quite big too, which was… unsurprising, considering her rider. The mare bobbed her head up and down in response to the touch, prompting Tilly to let out a breathy laugh and start scratching behind her ear.  _

  


_ Arthur watched from not too far away, an amused expression at both the trusty steed and one of the most recent additions to the gang. He approached the pair as his thumbs hung loosely in his pockets. “Er… Boadicea.” _

  


_ Tilly turned her head towards the mountain of a man with a perplexed expression, obviously not completely on board, or making sense of the name of the horse. “Boadicea?” She repeated, eyebrow quirking up. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before, Mr. Morgan.” Her tone wasn’t exactly disgusted at the name choice. No, she actually found it slightly delightful. A big, tough man such as Arthur Morgan, giving a horse a rather… non-traditional name to say the least. It was sorta sweet. _

  


_ Arthur let out his own laugh, shaking his head towards the ground. “I know. I know. Trust me I’ve already faced enough scrutiny as it is, Ms. Tilly.” No it wasn’t a sensitive subject. Not in the slightest, but he stood by that name proudly. Sort of like a fool vouching for a foolish name.  _

  


_ Tilly grinned, eyes scanning back to the horse. She lifted her other hand to hold the horses face lightly in both of her hands, looking into it’s eyes, almost as if she was searching for her opinion on her owner’s naming of her. “Hmmm, now wait a minute…” Tilly murmured, as Arthur held a shadow of bewilderment on his face. She stayed silent for a few more moments, before her smile widened and she nodded with acceptance. “You know what, I changed my mind. She’s a Boadicea alright.” _

  


_ “Oh, really now? And, what prompted such a… controversial decision?” Arthur played along, sauntering to one side of Boadicea and giving the horse a hardy pat on the neck, while rubbing her forelock with the other. He glanced at Tilly, awaiting whatever clever reason she had cooked up.  _

  


_ Tilly’s grin turned into a more playful smirk, “She told me so herself. It’s in her eyes, Mr. Morgan.” _

  


_ Arthur found himself wheezing slightly, “Heh, so let me get this straight. You’re a skilled thief, a professional conlady, if you will,  _ **_and_ ** _ now you talk to horses?” He cocked his head to the side, looking her in the eyes, his own bemused grin taking hold. “Ms. Tilly, is there anything you can’t do?”  _

  


_ Right then, much to her dismay, and one that shook Arthur to his core, a voice that had been making Tilly’s skin crawl since day one tore through the camp. “ _ **_Tilly!?_ ** _ Girl, where’d you get off to? You have work to do!” Tilly shut her eyes, expression falling into a grimace, and sighed. Mrs. Grimshaw had been by far one of the worst people that came with this camp. Arthur’s looked in the direction of the voice, his amusement growing, while also feeling a pang of disappointment. He had to admit, he was enjoying the banter between the two of them. It was a simple and temporary change of pace from the boys’ usual idiocy and antics. _

  


_ Tilly sighed, giving Boadicea one last rub under the chin, before backing away and beginning a slow walk towards the source of the sour voice. But, before she could completely disappear into the maze of tents and wagons, she turned on her heel to answer Arthur’s lost question. _

  


_ “I guess that’s for you to find out, Mr. Morgan.”  _

  


_ With a wide smile, she turned right back around and strolled off, Arthur watching until she was completely out of sight, and the background sounds of bickering started up. “Heh…” He stroked Boadicea’s forelock, ruffling it up a bit too. The horse snorted, bobbing her head slightly as if she was amused too. “I guess I will, girl.” Arthur addressed the curious steed, before he too would be called over to help with some con or the other.  _

  


* * *

  


Tilly almost didn’t realize she was daydreaming to a much simpler time. One without the fear of the law finding and hanging all of them. One with a warm, late afternoon glowing on the camp. One where she was… okay. Maybe even happy. She found herself growing far too used to being cooped up inside the musty cabin, full of misery and low spirits. Most of all Ms. Adler, who sobbed with a fierce grief unlike any Tilly had ever seen before. Mary Beth had proved to be the best in supporting the poor widow, prompting Tilly to distance herself ever so slightly, but not too much. She wanted to help, she really did, but she knew most of all that whatever words she spoke wouldn’t matter. Nothing would bring back who had been killed.

  


In her own silent way, she mourned too. She mourned Jenny, one of the girl’s she was closest with. Jenny had never seen true pain, but she had her fair share of a rough life before entering the Van der Linde gang. She was optimistic though. Positive and… cheerful no matter what it seemed. Tilly knew that if Jenny were still alive and with them now, the dreary tone that draped over the room would be at least a little lighter. Maybe she’d be singing one of those songs she always sang around the campfire late at night, with Javier’s guitar as a lovely accomplice. In a few ways, Tilly envied the girl. But, now… she was dead. Death was nothing new to Tilly, but things had been going so well, she supposed she was just caught off guard when reality stepped in. They all were.

  


And, Davey. Oh, Davey. He was a sweet soul. A consistently drunk, bites-off more-than-he-can chew kind of bastard, but a sweet soul nevertheless. She recalled the many times his kind heart shined through the rough exterior, which faintly reminded her of someone else. A piss poor shot, with a soft spot for animals. He was always nice to Tilly too, even if they weren’t the closest of friends. One time he complimented her as a ‘sight for sore eyes’ when she brought him a bowl of stew in the camp, and for some reason, no matter how commonly he used it, it was something that always stuck with her. She smiled even thinking about the young man. The young man who had been killed. Couldn’t even be buried because the dirt was too hard and frozen outside. Her smile dropped when that thought presented itself. Dead and couldn’t even be laid to rest like he deserved. Jenny, now… her body was still in Blackwater, probably buried in a shallow, unmarked grave. Both scenarios were bad. 

  


And,  _ who _ knew what became of Mac and Sean. Mac had been shot, apparently, so his odds weren’t great, but Tilly decided not to jump to the worst conclusions concerning those two. Until she was told otherwise, they were gonna be alive and well, hiding out or… captured, she supposed. Maybe that was worse than death. Maybe they were equal, when it came to how terrible a fate could be.

  


The constant thought of death and mourning spun in her head until she landed on the memory of late last night. Talking with Arthur seemed like it happened long ago, given the slow wheels of time that came with storm, but it still put her at ease. 

  


The man did seem very adamant on making it clear there would be no more death, and she hoped she was not a fool to believe him to the highest extent. Arthur wouldn’t lie, she didn’t think, but maybe he didn’t realize how out of control some things were. Tilly got the sense that he wasn’t exactly blameful of himself for what happened on that ferry, but rather someone else. It was funny how she couldn’t read him at the time, but now she was analysing all sorts of things. It must’ve been days of being on the run and then suddenly forced to sit still, being roasted slowly by a burning fire but still getting chills. Regardless, the short amount of time spent talking was something Tilly needed more than she thought. If she hadn’t decided to creep outside and into his room, she would be stewing up more baggage than she was at the moment. It lifted a load of worry of her shoulders, with only some left to spare, but she didn’t know if Arthur felt the same way. Hopefully… maybe he appreciated the visit he didn’t ask for, but accepted anyway. 

  


A particularly loud sob broke Tilly from her thoughts once more, and although it was something she had been listening to for the past couple days, she couldn’t help but glance at Ms. Adler once more, a pained expression on both of their faces. The woman’s crumpled up face was pressed into shaking hands, as Mary Beth, bless her heart, did what she could to soothe the woman, rubbing slow circles around her back. “ _ Shhh, it’s okay, Miss. Everything’s okay now.” _

  


_ ‘No.’ _ Tilly responded internally,  _ ‘It’s not.’ _

  


To her right, Abigail was pacing something fierce, while Jack could only watch helplessly. Earlier, the mother had been able to hide her worry for John fairly easily, but by each passing hour she grew more and more restless. Tilly was worried too, but she figured just about everyone was. Surely he’d… have turn up sooner or later. Maybe the weather had just grown too fierce wherever he ended up while scouting, and he was forced to camp out until it calmed down.  _ Maybe _ .

  


Tilly sat up a little straighter, figuring she could try to offer the woman some peace of mind. Maybe successfully, because, while she had every right to worry, the pacing was only putting everyone else on edge. More than they already were. “ _ Abigail _ ,” She started, voice soft and considerate, watching as the other slowed her step. “He’ll- He’s gonna be okay.” 

  


_ Some consolation, Tilly. _

  


Abigail looked from Tilly, to the ground, and then to Jack in a slow progression, before answering the unasked question, “Of..  _ of course _ he’ll be okay.” She stated in a sharper tongue, almost as if she were scolding herself. “It’s just, I guess with the way things been goin, I can’t help but think about what could be taking that fool so  _ damn  _ long.” 

  


Tilly nodded, scooting her chair slightly to make room in the half-circle, and gesturing to the empty chair right beside her, surrounding the only source of heat. “I understand.. Why don’t you take a seat by the fire, warm yourself up a bit.” She offered, unsure of what else could be said that Abigail hadn’t already thought of. 

  


Abigail seemed to consider the offer, before seeming to take it up once she blew out a puff of air and nodded to herself and Tilly, “Yeah… sure.” She approached the chair and sat in it quickly after another moment of apparent pondering. 

  


Then it was silent again, save for the now light sobbing across the room. Still, Tilly figured the woman would’ve walked herself to death if someone hadn’t said  _ something _ , at least. Abigail focused on the fire now, Jack moving himself to sit right behind her. He looked a little more relaxed, but she doubted it was by much. The things that little boy must be thinking at this point, no father in sight, and the swirling storm just outside stirring his thoughts around even more. Tilly wished most of all that he didn’t have to go through this, but she figured it was something he’d been born with going through, so maybe this wasn’t as bothersome to him as she assumed. 

  


“He ain’t been seen in days,” Abigail suddenly felt the need to continue on, a harsh tone on her lips, though not directed at Tilly. “... The weather ain’t let up.” She added, a bit softer, but with the same fire hidden inside. It was clear she needed to continue venting, and Tilly was happy to be on the receiving end of that, sort of.

  


Tilly, leaning towards the fire more and more, jumped to reassurances. “He’s strong, and he’s smart.” She winced inwardly at how much this was all feeling like another empty promise. John… he  _ had  _  to be okay. She was sure of it, even with what little doubt laid inside her words. 

  


Abigail scoffed quietly, switching her gaze back to the fire, “ _ Strong _ , at least.”

  


Tilly was so focused on continuing, and failing, to console the woman, that she didn’t at first notice the strong gust of chill that swept through the room, sending a shiver down the spine. That meant someone had entered from one dismal setting to another, and as soon as Tilly glanced sideways to see who, her heart leapt ever so slightly. Arthur Morgan looked… comically cold if anything, but Tilly in the current conversation, failed to find the humor in anything. Abigail shifted in her seat slightly, indicating that she noticed the burly man too. Not that he could be ignored, as he quickly set his sight on the burning fire and approached. 

  


Tilly’s mind, once more, skimmed through the events of last night. Particularly, their talk. His comforting. Her believing. Their out of place jesting. And, quick goodbyes to wrap it up. It… comforted Tilly even then, but it still felt… unreal. If that made sense, because it sure didn’t make any to her. It felt rushed. She had so much more to say, yet in the end she was the one to leave. He never told her to, or even implied it.  It was all her, and the excuse of ‘checking in’ on the sleeping widow. No, she couldn’t even explain her reasonings, because she could’ve talked to Arthur Morgan all night long if there was no… rush, on her part. Maybe she took what she needed and left, never one to be greedy. Never one to worry Arthur more than he already was. Things were different now. More dangerous. Maybe it was because of that. This wasn’t the time for silly questions and obvious answers, no matter how… deeply  _ scared _ she felt, of a lot of things these days. At the moment, she was scared for John, Abigail, and poor, little Jack. 

  


As soon as Arthur posted up by the fire, sticking his hands out so quickly one would’ve thought he had frostbite, Abigail greeted him. “Hello, Arthur.” It wasn’t any casual greeting, but paced more like an opener to a suggestion. It was nervous, and Tilly at first couldn’t imagine why. 

Arthur himself, still thawing his hands, glanced at Abigail, and then at Tilly. “Abigail… Tilly.” He greeted back, keeping his eyes on the girl that wasn’t Abigail.

  


Tilly only really noticed it because she, herself, had been looking at him silently. Really from the moment she’d realized he walked in. She would’ve looked away quickly in embarrassment because she was staring, but she didn’t feel the need to. For once, it felt more normal than usual. Arthur didn’t look away either. Not until Abigail, in all her nervous and rushed vigor, stood up and extended her greeting. “Arthur… how you doing?”

  


Tilly turned her heads towards the woman, suddenly seeing the gears churning in her head.

  


Arthur obviously hadn’t caught on yet, due to the sudden bewilderment upon his face, and played along with no question. Not yet. “Just fine, Abigail… and you?”

  


The hesitance in Abigail’s next response gave her ulterior motive away, and Tilly didn’t blame her one bit. “I need you to… I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask, but-”

  


Arthur scoffed, a small smile of disbelief etched into his face as he shook his head and understood why the woman had been acting so awry. “It’s  _ little  _ John. He’s got himself caught into a scrape  _ again. _ ” He actively voiced his mockery of it all, as if it was something he’d been through a million times before. And, Tilly was sure he had, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t already fed up with his attitude towards it. 

  


“He ain’t been seen in two-!” Abigail immediately retaliated, the fire that’d been stewing inside her spitting out before she caught herself losing her temper with the other. Again, Tilly couldn’t blame her. She herself was feeling as if she was about ready to burst, and not even from this whole ordeal, though it was  _ certainly _ playing it’s own part. “... Two days.” Abigail finished, softer, more pleading. 

  


It was back and forth from there, and Tilly decided not to intervene. More so, she decided not to side with Abigail in why Arthur should obviously put aside whatever petty differences he had with John and help the poor woman. Do it for Jack, at least. But, she bit her tongue, deciding only keep looking at Arthur. It wasn’t just any… caring look she would always give him, but it was a harder one. A little… confused too, maybe. She knew that John had left the gang for awhile, prior to her joining, and that Arthur never truly forgave him for it. That was all, and it was no business of hers. But… in this time, of all the times, now was just not the time for something like  _ this. _

  


She didn’t know if her hard stare managed to do any little thing to tell him what was on her mind throughout this, only noticing a quick glance from him, while still out of sorts with Abigail. It wasn’t until Hosea became involved that the debate was settled and that, yes, Arthur and Javier would both ride out to at least look for John. 

  


And, then they were gone. Arthur was gone, out the door and on a reluctant mission.

  


They would come back with John no more than an hour later, scratched up all to Hell by a wolf, but alive and  _ found _ . Abigail was happy, as was Jack, and that made two people. And, by some sort of default, that made Tilly  _ relieved _ . As long as there was that little shred of hope that wasn’t just granted by Arthur’s way with words, it was proof that things  _ were _ going to be okay. At least. And, she held onto that for the cluster of endless weeks they remained. 

  


* * *

  


She didn’t talk to Arthur much after that, other than the occasional greeting whenever he needed to warm up by the fire. Not to say she pretty much  _ lived _ by that fire for three weeks, but between watching Jack while Abigail fussed over John and his healing, and forcing herself to listen to Ms. Adler continue to sob and offer what she could, while also having Mrs. Grimshaw bark orders at her, she found the fire as an escape. So did Arthur, it seemed. 

  


So, she didn’t talk to him after that. At least… not that anyone else knew about. 

  


Admittedly, she found herself making a few more trips to his room under the cover of night, and the knowledge that everyone else was asleep, to do what she wasn’t during the day: just talk. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed, or trying to hide the fact that she found comfort in Arthur’s company, but she felt better knowing it was  _ theirs _ to have. No one else's. Lord knows if Karen found out, she’d run her mouth of to the rest of gang, sober or otherwise, and then it would be… well, she couldn’t even think clearly on that subject. But, she didn’t just find comfort, but she found assurance. She found hope. She found… something else. Something stronger that she couldn’t explain. And, it wasn’t anyone else’s business but hers. And,  _ maybe _ Arthur’s. He never asked her to come and talk to him, but he never turned her away. That was something close to wanting her there, and that was enough for Tilly to keep coming back. 

  


The first night she talked to him after those first dreaded two days was more hesitant than any other night they had talked, even from before the Blackwater incident. She was admittedly…  _ mad _ about how Arthur handled the rescuing for John. She knew Arthur was a good man, but sometimes he sure didn’t hide what a  _ fool _ he could be. After enough coaxing, she admitted her feelings about it to him, and that was that. He wasn’t mad at her for sticking her nose in  _ his _ business that really had nothing to do with her, that was how she saw it at least, but rather he admitted he was… brash. It was a very,  _ very _ vague admittance of that in particular, but she didn’t need to hear much more. 

  


“It’s a long story.” He would say, obviously not wanting to get into it. And, Tilly wouldn’t make him. 

  


Tilly stewed in silence for a good few seconds, “... I understand. You don’t have to say anything.” She paused, confident on moving on from it before another thought entered her mind, “I suppose I just worry ‘bout them sometimes. Jack and Abigail… and John. They’re a family, you know?”

  


Arthur, eyed her for a moment. “This…” He gestured around, to nothing in particular, but to everyone resting around them, in different cabins, but still in the area. “ _ This _ is a family. We’re  _ all  _ family in this gang… ‘cept Micah.” The last part of his point was murmured more to himself, but Tilly heard it all too well, and tried not to let out a laugh of  _ more _ understanding.

  


But, she was still serious, “I know… I know that, Arthur.” She sometimes forgot how dedicated the man was to this gang, but she supposed it made sense considering how long he’d been with Dutch and Hosea, “But, they’re  _ family _ . Little Jack has both parents, alive and well, it should stay that way. I… I guess I can’t speak clear right now, but you know what I mean? What he has is more than any of us ever had when we was his age.”  _ More than she had, for sure. _

  


When Arthur didn’t say anything immediately, Tilly again jumped into explanations, “In the end, it doesn’t have to be for John’s sake, if you don’t want it that way. But… do it for Abigail. For  _ Jack. _ ” 

  


Arthur’s gaze had been on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees as he remained hunched over and deep in thought. Tilly felt nervous, wondering if maybe her side on this was too strong, and if she was just taking everything further than it needed to be. She could’ve sworn his lips quirked up ever so lightly, as he breathed out a phantom of a laugh. He eventually sat up again, looking at her. Eye to eye, and genuine.

  


“... Yeah, I will.” 

  


* * *

  


She only visited Arthur on the days that were particularly rough, but she’d never let him know that. It was best if he just assumed that they were random for the most part, and it was just an occasional tradition. That first night was different, she wouldn’t deny that, but she wanted to look  _ tougher _ than she felt sometimes. Hell, she wanted to  _ be  _ tougher than she could be. 

  


As days turned to weeks, as Dutch and the boys went on their usual crusade of killing O’Driscolls and robbing trains, the snow began to thaw. Tilly was in the background throughout, along with everyone who wasn’t a fit man able to do Dutch’s bidding with a fierce loyalty. Characters that stood out were… well, Ms. Adler for one. A fresh, sad face that only got sadder with each passing day. The reappearance of John Marston, who laid still on a bed while Abigail scolded and cared for him equally. But, the change in atmosphere wasn’t just due to the people and literal change in atmosphere, but the emptiness. They lost four people, and that changed the dynamic of the stuffy cabin much more than anyone would like to admit. Mac and Sean were alive, Tilly would keep telling herself, but they were still  _ gone. _ And, Lord knows if they would find their way back. 

  


Eventually, the waiting, consoling, and dwelling everyone had done was worth it. With the thaw came the news that they would be moving very soon, and it was time to pack up. With whatever score they had made on that stolen train robbery, Dutch decided enough was enough. Tilly had never been more eager to pack up a camp and load bundles of supplies on wagons. By that time, John was had nearly healed up nicely, and Ms. Adler had cycled through at least a couple stages of grief. She was… eerily quiet when they loaded up the wagons, and had been even a couple days before. Tilly hoped the change of scenery would help, at least a little. 

  


Where they were going, Tilly wasn’t quite sure. Some place closer to Blackwater than they’ve been, but far enough away they could successfully lay low among some civilization. So, in the end, Tilly didn’t care where they ended up, as long as it was away from  _ here _ . Besides, Hosea was talking up a storm about the beauty of the camp location he had chosen, and as far as Tilly knew, Hosea Matthews was a skilled outlaw and con man, but he was no liar. So, there was that to look forward to. 

  


Soon enough, the wagons were packed up with the high hopes of the gang and the gang themselves. Tilly found a spot somewhere in the middle of the caravan, heaving herself up on the back next to Mary-Beth and Karen, who were chattering away about the excitement of it all. Her legs hanged freely, and a fresh gust of wind that wasn’t too cold or too sad. It was fresh, and she closed her eyes as she breathed out and let the breeze sweep across her face. 

  


As the rocking of the wagon begun, Tilly opened her eyes. She wanted to watch the wintery camp disappear. It was full of moments and feelings she hoped would disappear with it, and time. But, there were… other moments she wanted to keep close to her heart, so she decided she would let go of it for the most part, just not entirely. Arthur Morgan was to thank for that. She wouldn’t dwell on the loud mourning from Mrs. Adler. She wouldn’t dwell on the silent mourning she did for Jenny and Davey. She wouldn’t dwell on the past, as she never did. But, she would continue to dwell, and keep in mind the words Arthur gave her to give her hope. 

  


Horseshoe Overlook was going to hold true to that hope. It had to. 


	3. Bittersweet Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! Sorry for the long wait, but meh whatever lol. Alas, winter break is over and school starts tomorrow, so I'll hopefully fall back into a more steady writing pace. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter! I have a lot more planned for the next and future chapters :)  
> Btw, I want to mention that I've always seen Tilly in her mid-twenties about, so that is her age in this fic! Arthur is in his mid-thirties!
> 
> Another btw, while writing this, I am also writing a fic centering around Isaac Morgan, which is a coming of age, father/son type genre called "Family Ties". The first chapter is already up, so please check it out if you can! 
> 
> Please leave feedback for both this and "Family Ties", because I just love reading what everyone thinks! Thank you :)

The gleaming sun beat down on the camp, a pink, swirl of an afternoon threatening to take its place in the sky. And, Tilly didn’t mind it one bit. 

  


She let that sun shine on her face, eyes closed as she blocked out any memory that would explain why she was so happy for the heat. It glowed fiercely, and she couldn’t help but smile softly, drifting off into a day slumber, where sparse dreams of simpler times filled her head. Oh, if only she could be done with chores, so she might find a nice tree to sit against, and maybe fall asleep with one of Mary-Beth’s books. With everything falling back into place, she could finally just focus on the now, and not the later. No fear for the future, or regret for the past. There was a lot more emphasis on her past especially, there always what no matter the situation, but for now, after all the drama these last few weeks, she felt thankful to have a sense of security again. She was okay. Everyone else was okay. Things would finally be okay.

  


She was glad Jack never ended up being lied to about that.

  


“ _ Afternoon _ , Ms. Tilly.”

  


Tilly opened her eyes with haste, feeling slightly flustered. She must have looked like a fool, daydreaming in the middle of feeding the chickens. But, once she picked up on the slur of the words, and the familiarity of the voice, she put two and two together, and figured she wasn’t the only fool there. Turning around to face the voice only confirmed her suspicions.

  


“Reverend… how are you?” She forced a genuine smile, even if it was little more pity filled than genuine. Oh, the poor man was drunk. Again. It seemed to be something he’d been using more than usual to cope with the stress the gang has faced in the past. Everyone had different ways of coping… but this was one of the ways she disapproved of. Now she’d never tell  _ Karen _ that, but it never made problems go away.

  


The man swayed with his drunken vigor, not even fully looking at her as her eyebrows furrowed further to show her distaste with it all. “Oh, I’m just  _ fine _ , Ms. Tilly.  _ Just fine _ … I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, y’know.” He hiccuped, and Tilly decided she wouldn’t stand idly by while this poor fool suffered through this awful habit. 

  


“I’m sure you have, here… why don’t I help you back to your cot and you can tell me all about it.” She gestured towards the cluster of tents, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him. He continued to stand in a slouched, swaying manner for a few moments, as if processing her offer, even though she well knew that he probably didn’t hear her at all. With no answer for a few more seconds, she nodded to herself, glancing around. “Right… let’s go. Come on now.” She nudged him forward slightly, starting to walk, where he drunkenly complied to drunkenly walk too.

  


Not surprisingly, knowing the Reverend, this was a normal day. It had been apart of Tilly’s daily routine more than once in the past few weeks they had been holed up in the open, on a pretty little patch she was happy to call home. For the meantime, anyway. Nothing was forever, when one was apart of a gang, but based on what happened, this was just enough. So, she really didn’t mind taking it upon herself to help the man every once in awhile. She didn’t  _ like _ having to see him like this, but she knew most of the gang avoided him like a plague, save for Mrs. Grimshaw. That old crow did happen to have a heart when the situation called for it, but she did a  _ very _ good job of hiding it. Tilly decided, as Reverend Swanson leaned on her a little more than before, that she would mentally curse Mrs. Grimshaw later, and focus on the task at hand. 

  


Tilly huffed, the smell of liquor creeping into her nose, “Lord, Reverend, how much have you had?” The tone was scolding, laced with pity. He obviously had no control over it, otherwise he wouldn’t be this far gone in the damn afternoon!

  


“ _ Oh _ .. Not much, Ms. Tilly.” He paused, staggering with a hiccup. Tilly did her best to steady him before pushing on. “Not counting the… the  _ morphine _ , of course.” Ah, so he was back at  _ that.  _ Again, it was nothing new, but for Tilly it sure was a sad sight… a sad face. As she continued to help him across the camp, she knew no one would be looking at them as if this were some emergency. It just went to show how often the reverend needed to be dragged across the camp and to his small tent before he went and did something truly foolish. 

  


Tilly sighed, both in relief for seeing the said tent in sight, and in exertion in slowly becoming the man’s only crutch of support. She was more than happy to carefully lower him down at the fireplace that wasn’t exactly the tent that held his cot, but it was close enough. “Okay… okay, here we go. Come on, sit down now, Reverend.” She urged, before the man hit the ground with a hefty, wheezy, “ _ Oomph. _ ” He took a second to recover from the short drop, coughing and mumbling something Tilly couldn’t understand in the slightest, as she brushed her dress off and regained her breath. 

  


“Now, you stay here and sober up, okay?” Her voice was stern and scolding, and she figured she deserved to scold the poor fool since she didn’t simply toss him down like anyone else would, “You can’t keep doing to yourself, understand that Reverend. It does you more harm and  _ no _ good.” Not for anyone, but certainly not for Swanson. By that point, the morphine addicted drunkard was laying down, mumbling some more incoherent words. Tilly thought somewhere among the low murmuring, she heard a ‘thank you’ and that was good enough for her. 

  


With that, she turned on her heel, with the intent of finishing her chores and taking some free time to lay against that tree, basking in as much sun as she could before it set and turned into a starry, purple night. That was something else she welcomed openly, for even the nights out here were warmer than the days up on that mountain. But, as she began making the quick trek back to the hungry chickens and abandoned bag of seed, something- or rather,  _ someone _ else caught her attention.

  


She blinked, watching as Arthur Morgan, caked to Hell with mud and a nasty bruise on his cheek, strode up to his tent with his usual carefree demeanor. In fact, judging by the nonchalant his attitude displayed, Tilly would guess that Mrs. Grimshaw hadn’t grabbed him by the ear and forced him to wash up yet. Not that it was her business, or anything, but she felt the need to warn him before he would find himself face to face with that kind of wrath, one she herself had faced many times before. But, before she would ultimately decide to give him that little warning, she hung back, leaning against the nearest wagon and crossing her arms. It was soon clear that he had no intent on addressing his appearance, as he simply took a seat on his cot and unsatcheled his journal. Tilly smiled slightly, amused by how normal this was.

  


Since arriving at Horseshoe Overlook, where everyone had a chance to recover from the snow and troublesome thoughts that came with it, she and Arthur didn’t stop talking. Only it didn’t have to be so secretive. Sometimes it was just in passing, a seemingly simple greeting to anyone else, that was much more than a simple greeting to both of them. They’d talk during the day about simple stuff, and talk at night about more of what burdened them still. Sometimes Tilly would talk about Jenny, and how much she missed her, where Arthur would assure that he still thought Mac and Sean were still kicking somewhere that just wasn’t here. That being something she was sure of herself, she believed him easily. As the days passed, and weeks did too, their talks became more lighthearted, and the topic of any worrisome thing became apart of the past. And, Tilly was glad it did, because as much as it helped her inner thoughts to talk about what happened,  _ she _ needed to start moving on and past it. Like she always did and always would. Arthur didn’t question her when she suddenly changed the topics to camp gossip, rather than her concern for Ms. Adler, and how she still wasn’t eating as much as she should’ve been. Arthur probably wanted to move on to. That was one of the things they had in common. When you’ve lived the lives they have up to this point, moving on becomes more of a necessity rather than a preference. At least Tilly thought so. 

  


There were the talks that were more… tender, than that of what there usually was between them. They were like the first night they arrived at that abandoned mining town on that dreaded mountain. The one where Tilly revealed the most vulnerability she ever had to Arthur and revealed she was afraid for what was to happen, and what had happened. Maybe she didn’t even need to say it, but Arthur  _ knew _ . He just did. So sometimes, since that time, there would be moments like that. Not necessarily when she felt scared or vulnerable, but when it was quiet outside, the moon gleaming down, and the crickets chirping softly. When it was just them. Nothing really needed to be said, other than sit in the comfortable silence of each other's company.

  


She supposed that’s where everything got complicated, because those moments created a feeling she cherished, yet knew nothing about. Why was it they were like that? Was it…?

  


Tilly didn’t finish the thought, shaking her head from any silly idea, or hope, to grace her head. This was Arthur Morgan, afterall. A rough, outlaw on the outside, but so much more on the inside, which... didn’t exactly prove Tilly’s point of her being a fool for thinking foolish things, but she didn’t want to dwell too much on that now. Maybe later, when it was more quiet, but not now. She lifted her head up, finding herself still how she left herself while in thought. Arms loosely crossed, leaning back against a wagon, and facing Arthur Morgan as he continued to do anything but clean up. Hearing Mrs. Grimshaw shrill in the background at either Karen or Mary-Beth prompted her to finally do something about it herself. So, she made the quick trip from that restful wagon to Arthur Morgan’s tent, save for a few feet, and greeted him. 

  


“Arthur Morgan, just what on earth have you been up to?” Her voice was more playful, with the right amount of scolding mixed in.

  


Arthur, who had been seemingly relaxing without a care in the World, nose deep in his journal, looked up just as casually. He might’ve been jumping if it had been Mrs. Grimshaw confronting him instead, the thought making Tilly laugh under her breath. “Well, I…” He trailed off, voice gruff and tired, swinging a leg over to get into a sitting position, “I’ve just been sittin’ here… enjoying the day, Ms. Tilly.” A trace of a smile appeared on his lips.

  


Tilly scoffed with another laugh, “Since a few minutes ago it seems, and I would suggest your  _ clothes _ have been enjoying the mud!” She gestured to his appearance, and he couldn’t exactly blame her reaction. Arthur looked down at his clothes, almost looking as if he were just remembering the state of them. 

  


“ _ Oh _ , right.” He muttered to himself.

  


Tilly let out another laugh, hands placed on her hips. Being closer, she could see the details of his face more closely. The bruise she had spotted from afar before seemed much more nasty than she thought, a clutter of black, blue, and yellow placed perfectly on his cheek. Right below it, she noticed something else, carrying more red than the previous injury. A cut, fairly small, but still bleeding ever so slowly. It was on the verge of drying, but it was more concerning to Tilly. 

So her brows furrowed, smile dropping slightly as she leaned down slightly to get a better look “ _ Oh, right _ , is right, Mr. Morgan. I take it you got into a fight? That looks mighty sore.” She gestured once more to his face, and ultimately the cut of concern. Arthur in turned raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, and reached up to touch the wound, hardly wincing when he found it, but nonetheless  _ wincing.  _ It was right then Tilly decided to do something more than make playful comments prodding at his condition. 

  


Before Arthur could even say anything else, Tilly had grabbed a washcloth dipped in water from his shaving table, and was swatting lightly at his shoulder as if to say ‘make room’. “Stay still, okay?” She ordered with a soft tone, concentrating on his face. He was ready to argue, taken back yet not surprised by her sudden concern. He’d known Tilly long enough to know there was no use in arguing with her on some matters, but Arthur was just as stubborn. 

  


“You really don’t have to, Tilly-” He was cut off by his own hiss of pain as she dabbed the wet cloth slightly against the cut. She in turn tried to refrain from smirking at the timing of his dismissal, and failed. 

  


“I  _ really _ think I do, Mr. Morgan. Now, what on earth are you doing get into fights? Shouldn’t you be keepin’ a low profile like everyone else?”

  


Tilly pulled the washcloth back, now tinted with some red. Even  _ closer _ to his face, she did what she could to stay focused on the task at hand. Still, she couldn’t help but notice all the features she had grown used to noticing whenever they talked in the past. The sun spots scattered around his face, more so clustering on his nose, the various, light scars of the past, the hints of wrinkles around those blue eyes of his. Eyes that once seemed worried, appeared at ease. She also noticed his beard was growing fuller than it’s usual stubble, even slightly covering the bigger scar on his chin. She must have been taking a little too long to examine him so closely, because she didn’t audibly hear an answer,  _ or _ she wasn’t paying attention. Being so close would’ve normally flustered her, had it been anyone else, but on the topic of all things  _ normal _ , much like assisting the Reverend in his sad condition… this felt the most normal. The most right. That hint of a strange feeling returned, and so did Arthur’s voice. 

  


“Ms. Tilly? You alright?” 

  


Tilly blinked a few times, realizing that she was staring off for a little too long at… him. The flurry of embarrassment, in the aftermath of her trance, hit her, as she cleared her throat, looking at the bloodied rag and remembering what she was doing. “ _ Oh, _ I-” She cleared her throat again, hastily pressing the rag back against the wound. “Yes, I’m quite alright.” She finished, suddenly looking at the cut much more closely, and avoiding eye contact with the man. Even so, she could tell there was a look of concern tracing his features. Arthur opened his mouth, as if to say something else related to her, but she was quick to speak first. 

  


“You were sayin’?” Tilly raised her eyebrows slightly

  


Arthur closed his mouth, staring at her for a few more moments, before wincing again at the sting of his cut, and raising his own eyebrows. She was sure he would've kept pursuing whatever was up with her, but maybe he sensed that she’d rather he not. Or maybe, he just had a lot more to say about the newly infamous “fight”. “Well, I was just  _ sayin’ _ that I’m not the one who started it.”

  


“Ha!  _ Really _ now?” Tilly couldn’t help but let out a laugh of pure disbelief, “You are Arthur Morgan, ain’t you? Big, burly, merciless outlaw… I’m sure you could start a fight by just lookin’ at someone.”

  


That prompted a laugh from Arthur himself, jumping to his own defense. “Come on now, don’t you have any faith in me? Go and ask Javier or Charles… Hell, ask Bill!  _ He’s _ the one who started it!” 

  


Tilly could only smirk, finally succeeding in stopping the slow flow of blood, and wiping Arthur’s cheek clean of any red. “Hm, don’t tempt me,  _ Mr. Morgan _ .”

  


She pulled the rag back one last time, examining his face, but being careful not to examine it  _ too much _ this time. Instead, Tilly just gave it a quick once over, eyeing the forming bruise in the process. Whatever grin of amusement she wore on her face fell slightly, feeling suddenly concerned. While she was just teasing Arthur about getting into fights, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but be worried. Nothing much could be done about that bruise, and that cut would likely just become one of Arthur’s many scars from past fights and scraps. He’d just have to wait it out.  _ Yet, _ it was ridiculous that she was worrying for  _ Arthur Morgan _ of all people, and his general wellbeing. He could handle himself, afterall… couldn’t he? Yes, in fact, she was sure he must have been invincible at this point, judging by the many stories of his past. She almost didn’t realize her fingers were just delicately hovering over the area of the more scarce injuries, only this time she didn’t back off. Not immediately. Arthur’s own amusement died off at some point or the other, blue eyes trying to search her brown ones for what might’ve been going through her mind. This time, she got the sense that even he couldn’t read her. Hell,  _ she _ couldn’t read herself. 

  


“You…” Tilly started, finally drawing her hand back, before trailing off and losing track of what she was going to say. 

  


“... just be more careful, Arthur.”

  


“... Sure, Tilly.”

  


It was an understanding tone, as it usually always was. That was one part of Arthur Morgan that would always frustrate Tilly, because she  _ herself  _  didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how he always seemed to understand  _ her. _ Never questioning, never confused, never… cruel. Just understanding. Did he pity her? Pity her for somehow always finding herself close to him, for reasons she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, searching for a certain connection to sew her inner doubts shut? To distract her from how weak she sometimes felt? Did he just see her as…she saw herself most times? Sometimes? The last few weeks had been a dream compared to the Hell they all faced, but in that moment she felt the same vulnerability she felt in what seemed like so long ago. Could Arthur tell what she was feeling? Could he  _ truly _ understand it? Could he even…  _ reflect it _ ? 

  


With empty questions throwing themselves around in her mind as usual, Tilly softly smiled at the other, making sure to mask the confusing feelings that walked hand in hand with those questions. She half-expected some distraction to grab her away from the cot she lead herself to, or at least give her a good excuse to grab  _ herself _ away. But nothing happened, leaving just them, and the hustle of the camp that seemed to pay attention to anything but. Tilly supposed she was thankful for that. But, she couldn’t help but also feel a twisted sense of urgency in her gut.

  


She swallowed, being sure to keep a light expression on her face, “Well,  _ good _ , I don’t want to have to be cleanin’ your cuts all the time, Morgan.”

  


That earned a short, breathy laugh, and a voice thick with reassurance. “Surely not, Ms. Tilly, I’ll be sure to lick my own wounds ‘fore you see em’.”

  


With that, Tilly stood up, still grasping the slightly bloodied rag, and not letting Arthur see her smile fall only slightly. “I suppose I’ll get back to those chickens…” She trailed off, feeling a steady flow of hesitance as opposed to the strong urgency. She wanted to stay longer,  _ oh _ she really did, but she couldn’t think of an exact reason to convince herself to do so. And,  _ Lord _ , what a familiar feeling that was. The same feeling that creeped up on her every night she talked with Arthur, right before she knew she had to leave the comfort of Arthur’s space and back to the crowded tent shared with Mary Beth and Karen. Well,  _ both _ were indeed comfortable, but while she often avoided spending too much time in the shared, dramatic area where she slept… she never wanted to leave Arthur’s abode. She never wanted to leave his company.  _ She never wanted to leave Arthur. _

  


But, she felt she had to. 

  


So, while Tilly lingered a little longer, there was a sadness in the air around her. A sadness she was so used to, that she hardly noticed when it entered. A sadness she accepted, as she showed Arthur one more bittersweet smile. “See you, Arthur.”

  


She couldn’t tell if Arthur could sense the change in her energy, because he himself had a certain demeanor surrounding his own smile. It wasn’t… sad, like hers, but it was something like that. Then again, Arthur Morgan was the hardest man she’d ever had to figure out, something she still hadn’t quite done. She’d  _ known _ men in her life so far, and those men were either good or bad. Mostly bad, considering the past, but Arthur Morgan really was so much more than some label. He was… intriguing almost, but still complicated as Hell. He looked her over for a moment, from where he sat, and for she was suddenly reminded of that first night on that miserable mountain. That same amount of dread she felt back then sparked up again, but only for a second. 

  


“And, you, Tilly.” He nodded, eyes laying steadily on hers.

  


Tilly was the one to break that special contact by leaving in a hesitant, fast-paced manner. Had she stayed any longer, she might’ve never left. That’s how it felt anyway. Surely and truly.

  


By the time she had returned to her post by the chickens, Arthur Morgan realized that he never thanked her properly for taking care of him. 

  


* * *

  


“What’s got you so dazed?”

  


Tilly snapped her eyes up from the straight and direct line they’d been staring off in before. After she finished her chores, after her encounter with Arthur, she made true to her own promise that she’d swipe one of Mary Beth’s books, sit against a tree, and soak up every bit of sunshine and every word she possible could. She followed it up to the point where she couldn’t actually focus on the book, and surrendered to the onslaught of her thoughts instead.

  


She wondered how long she’d been looking off in that manner, book laying open against her stomach, a hand with a few chewed nails drifting near her face. Even though she was embarrassed, she covered it up well with annoyance and naiveness… but, mostly annoyance.

  


“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Karen.”

  


The other woman laughed, dangling a flask loosely from her hand, before unscrewing it in one swift motion. “I  _ think _ you do, have you even read a single page of that?” Her tone was knowing almost, but Tilly knew that _ Karen, _ of all folk, couldn’t possibly know what was going through her mind. Rather..  _ Who  _ was going through her mind. With the comment, Karen easily pulled a swig of whatever booze was in that flask, giving Tilly a chance to change the subject.

  


“Isn’t it a little too early for that?”

  


“The sun’s going down, ain’t it?” Karen shrugged, taking another hefty swig.

  


Tilly narrowed her eyes, huffing loudly, and deciding against snapping something fierce at the woman. What good would that do, anyway? It’d only give Karen more fuel to mess around with, more so than the other fuel she was shoveling into her body. Tilly leant her neck back against the tree lightly and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Yes… things were going far too well for her to start feuding with Karen, which would only really raise the sparse tension there was throughout the camp. She opened her eyes, now more soft than frustrated, and looked on at the camp.

  


“I guess… I don’t know. I guess I’m anxious is all.” Tilly explained as briefly as she could. It wasn’t exactly a lie, either. 

  


Karen seemed to accept it, even if wouldn’t stop her from prodding further. Before Tilly could blink, the woman had ungracefully sat herself down next to the girl, posing a more relaxed, nonchalant posture as she continued to nurse the flask. “What for? We’re out of that  _ damn _ snow… the sun is shining down on us, and so it seems lady luck is too.” 

  


Tilly hesitated, “I just feel like… something’s changed.”

  


Something  _ had _ changed, and it was like Tilly realized that for the first time as soon as the words left her mouth. Things had changed between her and Arthur, most of all. Even if neither of them knew it immediately after getting off that mountain, that same change had been right in front of them that whole time. And, it wasn’t exactly… a  _ bad _ thing, because whatever it was, Tilly found herself liking that change. She  _ liked _ talking to Arthur more. Simply being around him most times made her heart flutter more than it had before Blackwater. He was just… he was always there when she needed him to be, whether he knew that or not. But, that change stemmed from something else, it had to. It stemmed from the uneasiness and danger Blackwater brought as well. She supposed these last few weeks had been bright and shiny in comparison to their previous hardships… but that was all starting to change, and morph into something that left Tilly needing Arthur more than ever. Arthur and the ease only he could make her feel, whether it was with that deep, rumbling voice of his, or the care placed in his blue eyes. The more she thought about it like that… the more she understood, despite her millions of internal questions. What  _ really  _ did it mean? 

  


Karen let out a raspy chuckle, “Ain't nothin changed but our location, hun.You’ve got nothing to be  _ anxious _ about, trust me. It’s all blue skies and sunny weather from here.” 

  


Tilly kept her eyes on the camp, taking automatic note of the various gang members that roamed. Abigail was playing dominoes with Hosea, both matching Karen’s carefree and genuinely… happy expression. Why couldn’t Tilly suddenly match that same amount of positivity that she felt not too long ago? Pearson was lazily manning the food wagon, Bill was taking one of his famous late afternoon naps, Dutch was standing outside his grand tent, surely surveying as Tilly was, but more proudly. Molly was probably inside, feeling just as grand as the tent. That O’Driscoll was still tied up to the tree, with no sign he was getting a change of scenery anytime soon. Little Jack was walking around with a stick as an imaginary sword. Everyone was doing everything exactly as they would, even before Blackwater. 

  


Somehow, that filled Tilly with a more impending sense of dread. It wasn’t urgent, but it was looming. When she finally laid her eyes on Arthur Morgan all the way across the vast camp, just where she left him, working in his journal just as normal, the dread fluttered, trying to work it’s way into something comforting. Something that said everything was going to be okay. But, ultimately, it remained. As she kept her anxious eyes on Arthur, she answered Karen with a small voice. 

  


_ “Maybe so." _


End file.
